


Mysterious Packages

by Carrieosity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Flirting, Dean in Panties, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Lingerie, M/M, News Anchor Dean, No Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrieosity/pseuds/Carrieosity
Summary: It all started with a practical joke that misfired. Now Dean and Castiel are both frantically trying to get to know each other while keeping their own secrets to themselves.(Or: that time when Dean ended up in Cas's panties...in a manner of speaking.)





	Mysterious Packages

**Author's Note:**

> So I was talking to [sharkfish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/waitforspring/pseuds/sharkfish) one night, and a weird package showed up at my house, addressed to my husband. It contained underwear, which neither he nor I had purchased for him. It had come from a guy in another state that neither of us knew, and it was confusing to say the least. Of course...it had to be a story. :D

“Well?” Gabriel’s voice purred over the phone line, the leer on his face obvious in his tone. Castiel grimaced, rolling his eyes.

“Well  _ what,  _ Gabriel? I don’t really feel like guessing, so if you could just cut to the punchline, get your chuckles out, whatever…”

“Pfft. No fun at all,” Gabriel muttered. “The folks must have run completely out of senses of humor by the time they got around to having you. Even Mikey’s got some laughs in him, if you push him enough.”

Castiel knew about their oldest brother’s “laughs,” all right, usually tinged more with disbelief and bewilderment than amusement over whatever Gabriel had said or done. Gabe’s jokes ran the gamut from juvenile pranks to epic shenanigans, but the one thing they had in common was that there was always suffering involved for someone. Cas sighed, anticipating.

“What did you do?”

“A little disingenuous to be pretending at this point,” Gabriel said, sounding slightly disgruntled. “Honestly, I sort of thought I’d be hearing your dulcet tones after the first one. I put effort into choosing, you know? Hurtful. You gave me no choice but to keep going, just to see when you’d finally break. But,” he exhaled, “I actually do need to get those papers back from you, so if you could just take care of that, we can go on pretending you didn’t see anything else in the box. Stubborn ass.”

Trying to make sense out of any part of that, Castiel sipped slowly at the mug of steaming black coffee. It was too early for this. Then again, time had proved that his brother had no need for morning caffeine to get him moving to the point of bouncing off walls. “Papers?”

“The estate shit! Grandma’s property?” Gabriel huffed indignantly, as though Cas was the one being obtuse. “There are only a few of the papers that require your signature, mostly about the strip of land that the state’s been leasing for their oil pipeline, but I can’t file any of the rest of the stack until I have those signed and in my hands. Needed them back in my hands last week, like I said in the note, but I didn’t hear back from you, so now I’m nagging.”

“Gabriel, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The phone squawked in Cas’s ear, but he interrupted the spluttering noises. “I mean, I know about the will and the forms, but…you never sent any to me. I can’t sign what I don’t have.”

“Don’t give me that bull, baby brother! I actually tracked the package this time, and it says it was delivered on Tuesday last week! Brown paper, about the size of a large book, identical to the other three—ringing a bell now?”

“What other three?”

There was a long pause, then a short laugh. “Okay, this wasn’t thought out well,” Gabriel muttered. “Should have kept business and pleasure separate. Look, I won’t send any more if you knock it off now, killjoy. Jesus, though, Cassie, I never thought you’d use serious legal stuff as a weapon of war. I’m…actually impressed.”

Cas drained the coffee mug of its last dregs, then glared at it, trying futilely to refill it with the powers of his mind. “You’ve always underestimated me,” he said. “Unfortunately, this time the credit isn’t deserved. Let’s see if I can translate. You claim to have sent me a package—multiple packages, in fact. This one had legal forms, but also something that would presumably offend me, is that right? I suppose the others contained only the prank.”

“Not a prank! A  _ gift!” _ Even through the tension in his voice, Gabriel sounded proud. “I even sent them in your size! I mean, I think. Close enough, anyway. I’m pretty sure they can’t be returned, so if I guessed wrong, you’ll have to go on a Cinderella-style search. Only less feet, more…” He snickered.

“Gabriel.” Castiel breathed deeply, bracing himself. “Did you send me inappropriate undergarments?” 

“Appropriateness is in the eye of the beholder. I sent you  _ exquisite _ undergarments. You like lace, right?”

Well, it could have been worse, Cas supposed. “Except that you didn’t. I’ve received no packages, appropriate or otherwise.”

“Dammit, we’ve been over this part,” Gabe argued. “Look, I’ve got the delivery receipt right here in my email box! Says here, ‘Delivered Tuesday, 9:17 AM, 147 South Edelweiss Street, no signature required.’ Also a misstep on my part, that, but there it is!”

“Did you say 147 South Edelweiss?” Castiel said slowly.

“Yes, that’s what I said! So you can’t deny that—”

“Gabriel, I live at 142 South Edelweiss.”

The silence stretched long. “Well, that explains a little,” Gabriel finally said. “There was no  _ way _ you weren’t going to call me after the strappy little red ones.” 

“Gabe…” Cas groaned.

“Hey, you know my handwriting is terrible! I had my assistant send them for me, and she must have misread my memo. If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure she probably sent them consistently to 147. She’s reliable like that.” Castiel heard Gabe moving around, along with the sound of shuffling papers. The fact that despite his incredibly puerile drive to make mischief, Gabriel had somehow become a quite successful attorney was probably attributable to his refusal to admit defeat in any situation, of his own making or otherwise. “But here’s the thing. I could redraft all those papers, but we’re already behind the clock here. I can tell you’re not appreciating the joke yet—”

“Yet?”

“—but in the meantime, I need those signatures ASAP. Who lives at 147 South Edelweiss? They wouldn’t just trash the packages, would they?”

Thinking dark thoughts, Castiel stood up from his kitchen table and stepped over to his window, pulling the curtains aside to scan the street. There was nobody visible at this early hour, and Cas leaned the side of his forehead against the glass, squinting at the numbers on the porches and mailbox posts. Forty-three, forty-five...oh, no. “Oh, what did you do?” he almost whimpered, eyes widening.

“Cassie? Is there a problem? You know who they are?”

Castiel swallowed. “I do,” he said quietly.

\---

In hindsight, Dean shouldn’t have opened the first package that showed up on his doorstep that afternoon, but he wasn’t really paying much attention. He’d been bidding on online auctions recently, too, trying to find a handful of obscure parts for his car; Baby was a classic, but she was a high-maintenance girl. It had been logical, therefore, to assume that the small box was something he’d won, and he’d hummed under his breath as he dropped it onto his kitchen counter and slit the end with a knife.

In the moments that had followed, his brain had helpfully reminded him that car parts are generally heavier than this, that the auctions he preferred required signatures at delivery to keep people from scamming sellers, and that it wasn’t unheard of for crazy people to stalk media personalities, even local television sports anchors. There had been that one woman who’d sent her  _ hair _ to poor Max, and he was just the meteorologist. Dean had shuddered.

But those thoughts had come later, a beat or two after the box had slid free of the packaging and he’d lifted the lid to reveal its contents. Dean had blinked. The sheer fabrics, midnight blue and pearly ivory, had looked as soft as butter as they nestled inside the package. Without thinking, Dean had trailed a finger along the waistband to verify—no, that wasn’t some cheap poly blend. The lack of friction was almost like touching nothing but air, except for the slight coolness on his fingertip.

_ I have a stalker sending me panties, _ Dean had thought.  _ But they have good taste? _ He wondered if he should feel a little comforted by that.

Suddenly mindful of danger and need for precautions, he’d moved back from the counter a step, as though his continued proximity would contaminate the package more, erasing any stalker fingerprints. Cops took fingerprints in situations like this, right? He’d squinted at the box, thinking. Then he’d noticed what he should have noticed before, which was that although the address on the shipping label was his, the name was not.

“Cassie Novak,” he’d read out loud. “So…not a stalker, maybe?” He hadn’t been in this house very long, but the few pieces of junk mail that had continued to come addressed to the previous owner had been various misspelled permutations of “Rufus Turner.” The two names had only a few letters in common. Rufus had been a lifelong bachelor, too, so Cassie probably wasn’t a daughter or granddaughter.

Dean had felt conflicted. He’d known he should repackage it all up, slap on some more tape, and call the post office to let them know there was a mistake. But as he’d played through the scenario in his head, he’d cringed. This hadn’t been an online order; the panties had been packed by hand, outside of any manufacturer packaging. Nobody would want to accept underwear that had gone through the hands of strangers, even if they didn’t look as though they’d been taken from the box. The world was full of perverts. Whoever had sent it would have been unhappy at the waste of money, which had to have been a lot.

Really, better to let the sender and the recipient think that the package had just gotten lost. Maybe they’d insured the package, and they’d be able to get their money back that way. Wasn’t that the kindest thing to do? Dean had bit at his lower lip as he considered, eyeing the silk. 

Nobody could say that Dean Winchester wasn’t a considerate man.

He’d congratulated himself on his thoughtfulness as his hand had quickly shot forward and grabbed the panties.

Anyway, he’d said to himself as he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door—unnecessary, as he lived alone, but he couldn’t help feeling as though hidden eyes were watching and judging—this would work out well all around. Unless this Cassie person was the world’s worst stalker, putting her own name on the package she sent, then it had to be pure fluke that these lacy panties had come into his possession. A superstitious person might have considered it a sign or a message, but Dean was simply a pragmatic guy who wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His secret was still secret, and he hadn’t had to take a single risk this time. His lips had curled up at the corners as he unbuttoned his fly and shoved his jeans down to his ankles, kicking them free. 

If a particularly desperate paparazzi had been peeping through Dean’s curtains at that moment with a telephoto lens, the photo he’d have been able to snap would have earned him at least a few thousand in blackmail payments, even if he hadn’t been able to find a tabloid interested in small-time celebrity scandals. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room, Dean had grinned impishly and struck a pose, one hand on a jutting hip, displaying the adorable cherry-print cotton panties that skimmed his hips. They were comfortably snug, they were actually damn flattering on his ass, and they simply made him  _ smile. _

Dean Winchester, WCHG News and Sports, reputed lady-killer (actually an Equal-Opportunity-killer, but that part was somewhat less advertised) and local heartthrob…wearer of women’s underwear. He’d winked, then hastily (but carefully) slipped out of the cotton panties so he could try on the new ones. More proof that the universe was, for some reason, choosing to smile on him: they’d fit like a glove. 

And that would have been that. A week later, though, there’d been another box—a pair of green lace boyshorts and a ribbon-adorned blush-hued cheekster pair that could best be described as darling. A twinge of guilt had plucked at Dean’s gut, but he hadn’t seen a way to return these without admitting to having kept the first box. Then there had been a third box, which had sent Dean’s eyebrows soaring. Whoever this Cassie was, she was apparently unafraid to get a little kinky; metal rivets shone brightly along the hips of the black leather thong, and Dean had needed several tries to figure out how to even get the red ones on.

But now…now he was screwed. Sitting on top of the box of panties (leopard print, which he’d never owned before and would have been eager to try, and a tiny gold g-string—was Cassie actually a stripper?) was a small stack of papers that looked dauntingly serious. Quit claims, affidavits, probate something or other...oh, he should not have these in his hands. 

The paper on top had some names in the first section, and “Novak” jumped out at him like a flashing beacon. “Castiel J. Novak, hereinafter known as the Grantor…” So “Cassie” was actually a Castiel. Dean’s mental image of Cassie got some subtle alterations, shifting from pink-cheeked princess into something more refined. Cultured, even, despite the stripper panties. Someone who could definitely afford to drop money on expensive lingerie without hesitating.

Someone who definitely had a lawyer. Extremely belatedly, Dean considered that mail theft was really, really bad. Shit. Now what? He looked around his living room helplessly. When no answers leapt out of the shadows, offering to make it all go away, Dean shoved the papers and the box of panties back into the paper wrappings, yanked open the coat closet, and practically threw the package into the back corner of the shelf. Denial was no kind of strategy, but it was all he had.

\---

The day Dean Winchester had moved onto Castiel’s block, Cas had taken one look at the man carrying boxes from the moving truck into the house and had spun around and marched right back into his own house. Granted wish or nightmare made real, he knew that  _ somebody _ was watching and laughing. 

Cas didn’t even like sports, other than the occasional charity 5K he did himself, so he had no good excuse for his nightly habit of hanging on every word of the WCHG Nightly News sports report. Football, basketball, hockey—it didn’t matter that Cas had no idea whether the Panthers were a college, professional, or pub team competing at whatever sport was being discussed. Whenever Dean Winchester flashed those dimples and winked, Cas became an avid fan.

And now Dean was his neighbor. Castiel was suddenly party to all sorts of information about the man that he would never have known as a mere news watcher. Dean had a sleek black Chevy Impala for which he spent hours a week caring. Dean liked to take evening walks, heading in the direction of the park. Dean enjoyed grilling, and the heavenly aroma of his burgers was potent enough to fill the neighborhood. Dean grew roses and lilacs.

The man grew fucking  _ lilacs. _ It was completely unfair, how perfect he was, and Cas was losing his mind more and more every day.

It wasn’t even a surprise that, of all the houses to which Gabriel could have accidently sent lingerie under Cas’s name, it would be the one Dean Winchester called home. It was the logical conclusion to the messed-up catastrophe of Castiel’s existence. He’d knock on Dean’s door, ask him if he had any packages for him, Dean would hold up the underwear and say, “These are  _ yours?” _ and Cas would die. Perish. Keel over and pass away from an unfortunate cardiac event. Gabriel would find a way to legally absolve himself from his responsibility for any of it, and Dean could turn it into a witty segue quip as he turned the cameras back over to the news anchors.  _ “Hey, Robert, got any reports about panty-related practical jokes gone wrong?” _

Castiel had made several aborted attempts to retrieve the packages, each ending with him marching right past Dean’s house, unable to convince his legs to turn up the sidewalk toward the front door. It was good thing that he already had a well-known habit of jogging and walking through the neighborhood, or else somebody was going to start getting suspicious. Last night, he’d sat on the sofa in front of his television, not even hearing anything being said, absorbed in the Dean’s playful smiles.  _ He’s just so beautiful, _ Cas thought unhappily.  _ At least I might get to see him smile in person before it all goes to hell. _

And so this morning, he’d managed to threaten, bribe, and coerce himself into finally walking up to Dean’s house and climbing the steps onto his porch. In his head, Cas had carefully planned out what he would say, not wanting to trust what might come spilling out of his lips when Dean looked at him with those sparkling eyes. Being as vague as possible was key, since he didn’t know for certain whether Dean knew what was in the packages. Mentioning his brother was a flat no-go; explaining why his brother might be sending him lingerie would involve far more detail than he cared to give. Similarly, stating that “a friend” had sent the boxes might also open Cas up to questions better left unasked. The safest route was the most direct one, with the fewest details involved. Castiel steeled himself, clenched his jaw, and knocked.

Dean answered in his bathrobe. Castiel fell victim to spontaneous combustion, clouds of smoldering ashes swirling in the morning breeze.

That was what it felt like, anyway, as Dean raised his eyebrows and offered him a slight smile. “Oops, sorry,” he said, tightening the belt of his robe. “Thought it was my brother. He’s supposed to be dropping something off this morning. How can I help you? Not selling anything, I hope?”

“Nnngh,” Cas tried, then cleared his throat, blushing even more. “No, not selling. I live over…” He gestured behind himself and across the street.

“Oh, yeah! The runner guy! I see you all the time, dashing past here. You’re fast, man.” Dean’s smile widened, and he leaned against the doorframe casually. The neck of his bathrobe gaped a little as he did.

“...yes,” Cas said, a beat too slow. “Yes, I’m him. That. I run.” Dean’s eyes crinkled with undisguised amusement, and Cas tried to remember the plan. “I just…I was expecting some packages, and I think they might have had the wrong address on them. My name is Novak? Castiel Novak?” He kept his eyes trained firmly on a distant spot over Dean’s shoulder, determined to avoid seeing whatever Dean’s reaction might show.

“Oh.” The slight crack in Dean’s voice had Cas helpless to resist glancing back at his face. But he was still smiling, still apparently friendly. He cleared his throat, running a hand unconsciously through his hair. “Mmm, excuse me. Coffee hasn’t quite kicked in yet. Yeah, I have…a box. I, uh, didn’t know it was for you. Didn’t know any neighbors’ names yet. I’m Dean, by the way. Castiel, you said? That’s an…interesting name.”

“It’s the name of an angel,” Cas said, swallowing his urge to blurt that he was quite aware of who Dean was. Automatically slipping into the explanation he had to give every time he was introduced to a new person, he continued, “My parents were religious, though I myself am not.” Dean’s words sank in at that point, and Cas frowned in concern. “Just one package? Not a few?” 

Dean shrugged apologetically, grimacing. “I, uh, sent the others back? Like you’re supposed to, right? I mean, you don’t just hang onto somebody else’s packages! Ha! Who’d do that?” His laugh sounded a little rough, though that was probably due to the delayed coffee as well.

“Um,” Cas said, trying to decide how to proceed. Dean’s lack of reaction was probably a good indicator that he hadn’t opened the packages, but there was always the possibility that the agony was simply being prolonged. “Perhaps they just haven’t gotten back to…the sender yet. Or they were lost?”

“You know, that sort of thing happens all the time,” Dean said, nodding fervently. “I heard somewhere that like a third of all packages never make it to where they’re supposed to go.”

“Oh? That many?” This was a good thing. Dean was incredible, an honest and respectable person who had tried to do the right and responsible thing, and Gabriel’s joke was actually going to stay private. Castiel had never felt so lucky. “That’s incredible.”

“I know, right? Crazy!” Dean’s laughter sounded different from how it had sounded when he’d joked about the elaborately fumbled football play last night; maybe the station microphones muted the edges a little. It was still infectious, though. Cas smiled back at Dean, and then there was a long moment where they were both grinning in silence. Awkwardness threatened on the horizon.

“So…you do have the package then? One of them?” Cas prompted. He crossed his fingers that it was the most recent one, that the apparent incompetence of the delivery service hadn’t caused the boxes to cross paths in the system.

“Yes! Yes, I…” Dean glanced back over his shoulder toward the interior of his home. “It’s just I, um…” He glanced down at his body. “I’m not dressed!” he announced. “I mean, rude! Uh, why don’t you hang on just a second, and I’ll throw on some pants while I grab the box, and I’ll be right…back…” As he spoke, Dean groped for the door and slowly closed it, peeking at Castiel around the edge as if he wanted to make sure it was all right. He looked so adorably embarrassed that Cas wanted to protest, to reassure him that he was in no way offended, but he couldn’t manage to get in a word before the door was clicking shut.

“What just happened?” he said to himself, feeling a little disoriented. Not only was he not dead from humiliation, it felt almost as though Dean Winchester was actually  _ flirting _ with him. Impossible! But the flush on those cheeks, the way he’d stumbled over his words in a way that he never did on camera…and he’d noticed Cas running! And apparently been impressed! Cas was afraid to move, in case this was a dream and he might wake himself up.

In no time, the door was flying open again. Dean was now wearing a loose pair of sweatpants and an old tee-shirt, his hair standing on end as though he’d gotten ready in a hurry. In his hands, he held a package wrapped in brown paper. One end of the box was a bit ragged, with extra tape holding the paper roughly in place. Dean saw Cas studying it, and he made a noise of disdain. “See what I mean? Even the packages that get delivered get chewed up in the machines. Somebody slaps on some packing tape, and they think nobody will notice. Well, I, for one, think it’s just disgraceful.”

Castiel nodded, not really paying much attention. Seeing the box in Dean’s hands, knowing full well what was inside it, had brought back his nerves. It had to be obvious to everyone; there was practically a giant yellow cautionary sticker on the front, broadcasting “LINGERIE INSIDE.” He nodded, fingers itching to grab the box and run. “Thank you,” he said, distracted. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Hey, what are neighbors for?” Dean said, waving a hand and smiling again. “And I’m glad to get to meet you—um, do I call you...Cassie?” He tilted his head the the side a bit, glancing at the shipping label.

“Oh, God, no,” Castiel blurted. “Please don’t. Cas is fine, if Castiel is too much of a mouthful.” In a distant corner of his brain, Cas heard Gabriel burst into raunchy laughter at the unintended innuendo, and he almost cringed.

“Well, all right,” Dean said, either missing the reference or graciously choosing not to react. “Then I guess I won’t ask why you’re getting packages from somebody trying to offend you.”

“Probably best,” Cas agreed. “It’s a long story.” When it came to Gabe, there were no short stories. He held out his hands tentatively, and Dean handed over the box. For a moment, both men held the package between them, a strange sense of reluctance to end the conversation making them pause. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking on Cas’s part, brought on by euphoria and relief. 

“So, you know,” Dean said, “I’m still pretty new around here, and I should probably be doing a better job of getting to know everyone. Maybe…maybe sometime we could do this again? Uh, the talking, not the part where I answer the door in my bathrobe and act like an idiot.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel protested, a bit more confident with the panties safely in his possession. “But, um, yes, I’d definitely like that. I do a lot of my work from home, so it’s convenient, since you work mostly in the evenings.” Dean’s brow lifted. The Gabe in Cas’s brain fell to the floor cackling.

“You know who I am, I guess?” Dean asked, and Castiel groaned and ran a hand over his face. So much for confidence. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not like it’s weird! So you watch the news! Hey, it’s paying for my meals, so I’m pretty happy when folks recognize me!”

Castiel shook his head, wincing.  _ Recognize, sure. _ “But I  _ made  _ it weird by not saying anything,” he argued. 

“Believe me, that was far from the strangest thing anybody’s done,” Dean said, voice full of reassurance. “I once had an uncomfortable situation in a grocery store checkout line with a senior citizen who swore she knew me from somewhere, but she couldn’t remember where. I kept trying to suggest that it was from TV, but she refused to believe me. Wouldn’t let me go until she figured out what it ‘really’ was. Finally, when she asked if I’d dated her granddaughter, I said sure, just so I could get home before my ice cream melted.”

Cas laughed. “All right, that is worse. You win.”

“See?” Dean winked, just like on television, and Cas felt it in his gut. “So now you have to come hang out with me again, just so I don’t end up having any of those kinds of problems with our neighbors. It’d make block parties tricky. What do you say?”

_ I really shouldn’t. Pushing my luck like this can’t end well. _ “It’s a deal,” Cas said. 

\---

Closing the door and leaning against it, Dean groaned loudly. “Oh, this is going to end so badly,” he said, unable to stop imagining Castiel Novak, those muscular runner’s thighs and those crazy dark waves of messy hair, wearing nothing but those damn leopard print thong panties.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, the underwear my husband received was from my brother. Explaining *that* would take another whole day to write. ;)
> 
> (Not beta'ed. Come find me on [Tumblr](http://carrieosity.tumblr.com).


End file.
